


Christmas, 2012 -- AU

by Dillian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Stockings, Christmas Tree, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hot Cocoa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21956917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: This is just the sweetest, coziest story I could possibly write, about Loki living with a certain billionaire and his redheaded girlfriend.
Relationships: Loki/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Christmas, 2012 -- AU

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Loki, Thor** **  
****Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit]**

Here’s what happened, okay? Loki is very well aware of the existence of the multi-verses. He’s even used them on occasion, to further his evil ends. This time though, maybe the end was a little less evil. I’ll let you decide for yourself.

Thanos killing him in one of the multi-verses was one thing. Loki at least, knows what he’s dealing with. Finding out that Stark dies in the same one though? For some reason that got to him. How can a guy that’s killed mortals like they were bugs get upset about the death of just one puny human? Good question. For some reason it bothered him. It was like that was the first time that Loki had ever thought about how short the human lifespan really is. After that he decided maybe Thor has a point, maybe it’s time to start spending a little time with some of these so-endearing lesser beings.

A vacation, that’s how he sees it. The Loki of this particular multi-verse is taking a vacation from villainy. Don’t ask how he managed to talk Stark and his woman into letting him stay with them. Do you really care? He did, that’s what matters. They are all cozy together, in Stark’s rather pretentious house, on the coast of some Midgardian ocean or another. In other multi-verses, Stark would be growing obsessed over more and more suits, and carrying the entire burden of protecting Midgard from all the Nine Realms all by himself, on his own tiny shoulders. In this one he’s having more threesome-sex than most gods or mortals get in their entire life. He’s also enjoying himself, Loki likes to think. For some reason he finds himself caring about whether this particular mortal is happy, and it seems to him that Stark is happy. The woman seems happy too; for some reason this also matters.

Okay, so here they are. The winter solstice is rapidly approaching. It’s a Saturday in the month the Midgardians call “December.” None of them have to get up early, and so they’ve just stayed in bed. It’s a very large bed, easily big enough to accommodate the three of them comfortably. Loki normally sleeps in the middle. He’ll wake up to find the woman curled on one side of him, her golden hair mingled with his dark curls on their pillows. Stark will be on the other side. He’s restless at night, but sometimes he’ll relax enough that Loki wakes to find his dark head tucked close against his own shoulder. Mortals can indeed be quite endearing as pets.

The woman gets up first on this particular morning, as she normally does. Loki for his part, relaxes against his pillows, with his arm around the sleeping Stark’s shoulders, and watches her. She is pleasing withall. Her skin glows like warm cream, in the light of a bedside lamp, and her hair is a fall of gold across her shoulders.

“I’m making coffee,” she says. “Do you want some, Loki?”

“Coffee” is a Midgardian beverage. While useful for maintaining one’s concentration, it has a bitter flavor that has never been to Loki’s taste. Perhaps his expression shows this, although he makes no comment.

“I know,” the woman says. “You don’t like coffee, do you? I’ll bring something else.”

Stark is still asleep when the woman returns. She carries two cups, her own, filled with steaming dark brown coffee, and another, piled high with white fluff, which she hands to Loki.

A picture comes into his mind: Once when they were young Thor insisted upon visiting Midgard. He was bored, he wanted to go somewhere. He wheedled Heimdall into letting them use the Rainbow Bridge, and then there he was, standing there. “Well friends,” he said, “where shall we go?”

It seems that it was Volstagg who suggested Midgard. Perhaps he just suggested their destination once they arrived. It was a town called “Vienna.” Volstagg naturally wanted to go there because the food was good.

“Schlag.” Loki looks up at the woman. “You brought me a cup full of schlag?”

“You speak German?” The woman laughs. “Of course you do. In English we call it ‘whipped cream,’ Loki. And it’s not just whipped cream.”

Loki takes a drink. Underneath the cream is a sweet, chocolate-y beverage.

The woman gets back in bed, cuddling close against the cool morning, under their red blankets. “Do you like it? It’s called hot cocoa.”

“Hot cocoa” is extremely sweet, but there is a complexity to the taste besides just the sweetness. Loki takes another swallow. “It’s passable.”

“Of course it is.” The woman laughs, a note of fondness in the sound. She reaches out, touches his lip with her finger. “You have a whipped cream mustache.”

“You could have brought me a napkin.”

She leans close, her lips almost touching his. “I know a better way to wipe the cream away, Loki.” The bitterness of coffee mingles with sweet chocolate, and the faint, delicate sweetness that is the woman’s essence, as she kisses the cream away. It is this transitory loveliness that makes mortals so dear.

“You have never brought me ‘hot cocoa’ before,” he comments, ending the too-tender moment.

“Well it’s almost Christmas,” the woman says. “I thought I’d give you a treat.”

“Christmas” is one of several Midgardian holidays, celebrated to coincide with the Asgardians’ Yule. Loki has observed Christmas celebrations in the past. In Latveria for instance, the peasants eat large feasts, capped by repeated toasts to their leader, Dr. Doom. Below the surface of the Earth, Moleman celebrates with his moleoids, giving them presents of warm clothing, and small candy treats. Dr. Octopus celebrates by plotting to kill Spiderman, and MODOK does mathematical computations, related to a mythical being called “Santa Claus,” who supposedly travels across the whole planet for some reason, on the night of December 24th.

“I suppose it is your mortal month of December now, isn’t it?” Loki keeps his voice as condescending as possible (one should not indulge one’s pets too much). “Not that you or Stark have done much to celebrate ‘Christmas’ yet.” He looks around at the bedroom, which looks just like it does every other day of the year, and then glances out the door, toward the living room, which also looks just as ever.

“I guess not.” The woman shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. “We’ve been kind of busy, due to certain people I might mention, starting alien invasions, etcetera.”

Loki has to repress a smile. Sometimes Stark’s woman sounds just like him. He swallows some cocoa. “Well, you could still do something.”

The woman sits up a little. “What would you like us to do?”

This is a confusing question. What do the mortals do for Christmas, in this part of Midgard? Hopefully it doesn’t involve drinking toasts to Doom, or giving warm socks to moleoids?

“The usual, I suppose.” Loki gives his mortal pet a smirk. “It might be interesting for a change.”

“The usual” proves to be disturbingly overwhelming. An evergreen, almost tall enough to touch the ceiling, has to be brought in and erected, and then covered with lights and small, glittery balls. There are candies, chocolate filled with cream or caramel, and hard peppermint candy, shaped for some reason, in the form of a “J.” There is cake, filled inexplicably with dried fruit, and pies, filled with sweetened nuts, apples, and pumpkin custard. There are also gifts, lots of gifts, all wrapped in bright paper.

“You realize I can get whatever I want, whenever I want it?” Loki comments to the woman.

“Yes, and Tony’s a billionaire.” She kisses him lightly on the nose. “It’s still fun to get presents, isn’t it?”

It is. More so than Loki would ever admit to his mortal pets.

“Just so Tony doesn’t get me strawberries again.”

Stark has chosen his woman’s gift already. It is, for some reason, a toy rabbit, almost as big as a bilgesnape. _You really think she’ll like this?_ Loki had asked while he was buying it. _She’ll love it,_ Stark said. _And I got her another present, if I can get the nerve up to give it to her._ It remains unclear why it would take courage to give a woman a gold ring set with large diamonds. Women like pretty things, do they not?

“I’m sure he’ll choose something more pleasing this time,” Loki says to the woman. “What are you getting him?”

“A mirror. So he can look at the person he loves most in the entire world.” Mortals and their jokes! Stark obviously loves his woman more than anyone, or anything else in the world. He also shows signs of loving Loki somewhat.

“He’ll be pleased that you thought of him.” Loki gives the anodyne comment, not knowing what else to say.

“Yes.” The woman laughs, and kisses his nose again. “And we’ll hang up stockings,” she says.

“Stockings?” Like socks, Loki wonders?

They prove to be a special, decorative kind of sock, made of red plush, with white imitation fur at the tops. It seems it is the tradition in this part of Midgard for children to hang these, and then the mythical being “Santa” comes and fills them full of candy and small toys. Stark was supposed to be in charge of filling them, but he came to Loki, confessing that he had no ideas. “You do it,” he said.

Loki did it. He went to Wakanda to get vibranium, and behind Doom’s back to Latveria, to get some rare latverium. He visited the workshop of one Hank Pym now retired, for some things called “pym particles” that are supposedly well thought of by the scientists of Midgard. These and other scientific treasures went into Stark’s stocking, and into the woman’s, he poured all the rarest jewels that could be stolen from all over Midgard. This left only his own to fill.

“You don’t fill your own stocking silly.” Stark’s laugh was more fond than humiliating.

Thus it was not until the morning of December 25th that Loki found out how his pets had filled the stocking. He is still… not quite sure how he feels about how they did it.

“What do you get for the super-villain who has everything?” Stark’s introduction is ambiguous to say the least.

“Well, what could we get?” the woman chimes in. And then, “Nobody should be estranged from their family on Christmas.”

The Thunderer for once does not look like he’s here on an errand from Odin. He’s standing in the doorway, clad in his normal armor and red cloak, but with one fuzzy “stocking” on his left foot. The look on his face is embarrassed, but for once, not angry.

“Father said I might come Loki,” he says. “He knows that you are here. He hopes it means you are leading a reformed life.”

Odin can think what he wants. He’s very old, probably he’ll die before the mortals do, and never know that Loki has only suspended his evildoing for the duration of their lifetimes. As for the Thunderer, there will be many satisfying fights with him, once he finds out the truth. For now though, they will trade words only, the better to protect the furnishings of this Midgardian house.

“I suppose you wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t allowed you to?” Loki asks his brother.

“I came because Mother asked me to,” the Thunderer responds. “She wanted me to give you her love.”

“Well then, give it to me.” Positively the last thing that Loki would ever want would be a hug from this lummox, even if it were given in Frigga’s name. However, just thinking about how Thor will hate it… Loki cannot resist asking.

To his surprise though, Thor shows no resistance at all. Indeed, his face is almost happy, as he embraces Loki’s shoulders. “How I have missed you Loki,” he says.

“Well, I wouldn’t have cared if I had never seen you again in my entire life,” Loki lies.


End file.
